Two Little Girls
by cigamerisedi
Summary: Juri has broken free from the shell of Ootori, but she is still followed by her shadow. Series based story, post awakening, dealing with the lives of Juri's closest companions.
1. Prelude

Two Little Girls  
  
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.  
  
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)  
  
Disclaimer : Don't own it. Though.. wouldn't mind owning Juri (or Ikuhara-ouji *.*) Ahem ^_^ Just borrowing the characters and a little of the world from Utena.. and bastardizing it beyond belief. Also thanks to Ms.DiFranco for her lyric genius.  
  
Summary : Juri escapes the world of Ootori and four years later Shiori joins her in the real world. They meet and begin a life together free from the school - but not from their troubled past. Pretty much based entirely on Ani DiFranco's song 'Two Little Girls'.  
  
Author's Note : Music and writing I feel are two forms of the very same thing; storytelling. I get most of my inspiration from music. I took some liberties with the characters and had little to no creative juices flowing - since it's just Juri and Shiori set into this song. But, still, I like it as my first real fanfic attempt in a long time.  
  
Update : This fanfic was first written years ago. I am now finally submitting it to a wide reading audience. I don't know how many Utena fanfic readers are still out there, but if you exist please read and review to let me know if I should continue my quest to finally finish this thing. I promise to try and be prompt, while working hard for the original feel of the story. Thanks everyone!  
  
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Prelude : The Escape  
  
It's been four years since Ootori Gakuen; the phantom school. Some of us remember it clearly, constantly. Others can barely recall the European buildings and the rose scent that surrounded the grounds and our senses. I fade in and out of my memories of that place. Sometimes it's tangible, sometimes it's a mirage. But in my dreams, every night, I am surrounded by shadows and roses and the sharp slap of blade against blade. Being a seitokai, I am made to remember.  
  
Let me start at the beginning. At least, the beginning of my reality. After Himemiya disappeared from the campus the Dean fell into a state of acute depression. Ootori Akio was no longer the tyrant running the Ends of the Earth, nor was he the cunning Prince charming running the school. He was nothing. The seitokai received no letters, which seemed a moot point since there wasn't a Bara no Hime to duel for anymore anyway. The school was placed under the care of the Dean's father-in-law once more, until a suitable replacement could be found or Akio emerged from his death in life existence. Whichever came first.   
  
The Dean's fiancée, who was also prone to become detached from the world as it was, ended up the prime topic for rumors. In Ootori she was known to have fits of madness, causing violent attacks upon herself and others. It was said she often tried to commit suicide. Most likely she was jealous that the whereabouts of his sister affected her husband-to-be more than the whereabouts of her hands. So, she just wasn't getting laid any anymore and that proved it to her that she was meaningless. But it had always been that way, and always would be.  
  
That was something the seitokai began to remember. Actually, I doubt Kiryuu-san ever forgot. But the rest of us slowly began to remember. It was like coming to the end of a fog and seeing substance once more. How funny that it's the opposite now. Ootori is the fog, the haze we can't escape from. The substance is now the real world, the reality we're trying so desperately to survive in.  
  
Anyways, I was saying we were beginning to remember. We remembered how everything had always been the same. Everything had always repeated itself. No wonder we always looked so bored. We had lived our lives a thousand times over. Nothing for us had ever changed. The duels, the Bride, the Dean, the Victor.. they may vary, but always resulted in the same end. The beginning of another end. The start of another Revolution. Until she came.  
  
Ten'jou Utena was an innocent and naive young girl. Now that we look back on all the Victors before her we realize that's exactly what they were missing. They had been tainted so deeply before even coming here, they were like us. The Seitokai were reflections of all the Duelists before us who never made it to the Revolution. Those poor souls who couldn't take it. Couldn't give themselves completely because they had nothing left to give. Ten'jou-san had everything to give, everything to lose. That's what made her strong. We are not jealous of that. We've spent too many years there to be petty. We're actually very proud of her. She awakened the sleeping Princess living in a Witch's body and set her free. Resulting in our own release.  
  
After Himemiya the school began to fall apart with the Dean. In a sense I suppose he was the school. Cracks formed in the foundation and everything lost its luster and brilliance until it was all quite dull. But that's the way it had always looked to us, the shining Seitokai.   
  
Saionji left first. Tired and worn the boy left with only one good-bye. His love journal between him and Himemiya was sitting on the table when we met one day. (By force of habit the meetings were continued - though they mostly resulted in silence at least it was something to do) None of us read it, that was not the point. And none of us said a word, though we were all thinking the same thing, 'Who's next?'  
  
The students on campus hardly realized a thing the first few months. The loss of Saionji was practically ignored, just like Utena and Himemiya. And the rumors of the Dean and his fiancée were hardly mentioned. It was if life was going to return to..normal. But we had never known normal and we knew too much to let things simply go on this way. We had to escape. Miki-kun and I collaborated to leave. It felt so much better to have someone to plan it with. It made the idea that much more real.  
  
But, and could it really be a surprise, Kozue would not stand for it. She saw Miki-kun packing one evening and went into a psychotic fit. I heard she pulled a knife, though of course Miki would never admit this for the sake of his sister's "good name". He was amazed that his Kozue actually cared since they'd spent so many years apart, but I had seen the invisible hold she'd had upon him the entire time, so I knowingly accepted his explanation for why he could not leave. "Kozue is comfortable here." "Kozue needs me here." Kozue was a curse of that place and I knew it. Just like...  
  
Soon after this Shiori approached me. With dark eyes and dark hair and a dark smile she asked me if the rumors were true. Had I really been secretly planning on leaving Ootori? And without even saying good-bye to her? I was skeptical at first.. as to why she would be so.. familiar with me. It had been months since my last duel over her and my locket had been shattered. We saw each other in the halls and around campus and casually spoke, but we never resumed a friendship. Now, of course, she wanted to be close to me again. Maybe she assumed I had gotten over her and could be a friend. But no, the school is too clever for such a simple and innocent answer.  
  
They were holding us back. Kozue, Shiori. They were like the newly installed Witches. A new Ends of the Earth to keep us in line. All they had to do now was appoint one of themselves as Bara no Hime and demand duels. I didn't usually see things this clearly, and I thought I was having some kind of divine inspiration. I thought.. the school can't control me anymore. It's grown old and lost its power while I am only growing up and growing wiser. All teenagers think that, don't they? That they're much wiser than their parents. That maybe that can outsmart their elders because it's been so long since they were their age. But.. a mother never forgets what it's like to be young and foolish. Her experience in the matter helps her keep her children close.  
  
So when I left my bowling ball at Nanami's door, I thought myself wiser. When I left my rapier in Miki's locker, I thought myself stronger. And when I left the familiar tattered and wrinkled oval shaped picture stuffed in an envelope in Shiori's door, I thought myself free. At the time I didn't realize how horribly wrong I was.  
  
I left. I simply..walked out the gates of Ootori and kept walking. Everything seemed like a normal city surrounding the school. Until days and weeks went by and I realized it wasn't changing. The scenery was going in one great circle. I may pass the ocean, the mountains, and the plains - only to pass them all again. Houses and people might have been in different places, but they were all the same. I could feel the sameness of it all. Once I made that observation.. several things changed. As if the world was trying to protect itself. But it only got darker and I felt myself going deeper into nothing. Then the days began to blur together and my thoughts wandered.  
  
I wondered oddly about Himemiya. Did she go through this same process? And Saionji, how did he do against this trial? Where was Utena-kun? Had she died? Was Miki free, yet? Was Touga ever going to leave that place? Did Shiori miss me? I shook the last thought from my head and made the excuse that heat stroke caused me to even have it. I think I passed out after that. Actually, I think I died. Or..was I born?  
  
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	2. Verse One : Black Silk

Two Little Girls  
  
Part I  
  
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.  
  
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)  
  
Disclaimer : These sexy ladies are not mine. Characters and story belong to BePapas and Saito, lyrics are Ani DiFranco's.  
  
Summary : Shiori finds Juri and they begin a fragile life together.  
  
Author's Note : These early chapters were written awhile ago, but I refuse to rewrite. I'm just going to take off where I started. Let me know how you liked the original, though, so I know how much I should stick to the style.  
  
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When I reached the station I found that her train was running at least a half an hour behind, so I bought a cup of coffee from a stand and some random fashion magazine with a dramatic girl made up with a pale complexion and dark eyes. Her deep red lips caught my eye, but mostly I was anxious and wanted anything to busy my hands with. Flipping through the pages I barely paid attention to the stylish photos and empty articles until I came across the clothing ad with my own visage across the spread.  
  
That's how she found me. She saw me in some fashion magazine; perhaps this very one. I'm not sure what she did from there. The strings she pulled or the lies she told in order to get her name mentioned to me. But I'm sure it wasn't hard. I wasn't a familiar face yet. No supermodel material. I'd only been in New York a year and 'in the business' a few months. She simply tracked me to the city and found my agency. Once I heard it was her that was searching, it was easy from there. I bit eagerly at her bait though I tried to hold back.   
  
As I stared at the ad I was lost in memories. Of her and Ootori. What would she be like, now? With reality on her skin and truth running through her veins. How had four years of real life changed her? Part of me doubted she'd ever change at all. Yet I still felt.. excited. It's really the best way to put it. I had acquired a lot of emotions the past year that I had allowed myself to bury, but excitement was still kept under control for the most part. I was never nervous in front of a camera. The sleek, detached look my face so naturally held was exactly what they wanted.  
  
"Juri-sempai..?"  
  
Her voice broke through my thoughts like a small cut.. actually, exactly like that. She jarred me so that I ran my finger to roughly across the magazine page and caught my skin, tearing a small slit. But I didn't even think about it, really. I immediately looked up.   
  
She was so real standing there in front of me that I thought she may be a dream. You know.. the kind of ghost so tangible that walks out of late night dreams. Her hair had grown out a little. I understood that, because mine had too. It worked well for her. Added some kind of maturity. And she was slightly tanned since the last time I'd seen her, though the pale complexion of her skin against slightly plum colored dark hair was still drastic and.. beautiful. My muscles tightened at that moment because she was beautiful, and I couldn't deny it, and something in those eyes of hers gave away the fact that she knew I couldn't.  
  
"Oh.. you're bleeding. Is that my fault?"  
  
I must of gasped when she took my hand in her own. The warmth from it was something I didn't remember. When I thought of her touch I usually felt cold, but this was a comforting hand. Warm and tender as it lifted my cut finger to her lips and held her tongue over the cut. Had she even had luggage? Did she set them down? Had any time passed between her standing before me and then being seated beside? I closed my eyes as her lips surrounded my finger. How could something so simple send those shivers through me?  
  
She pulled away, taking a napkin from under the teacup I had and dabbed her lips. Had they always looked so... I shook my head in agony. One minute with her and already this. I curled my finger into my palm, making a loose fist, trying to calm my body from reacting to her. I wanted to hate her. There was this sudden, urgent need for me to hate her. But there she was. Smiling brightly as though nothing had changed since almost seven years ago when we had been happy.   
  
I should have stood up right then and walked away. Took that cut as some sort of screwed up sign and ran from her and the life we would have together from then on. Instead I allowed her smile to lure me in and her warm arms (god, why were they so warm) to pull me to her as if we had always been the closest of friends and her voice to lull my anxieties as she murmured,  
  
"I've been looking for you so long.. ouji-sama.."  
  
-----  
  
You were fresh off the boat from Virginia  
  
I had a year in New York City under my belt  
  
We met in a dream, we were both 19  
  
I remember where we were standing, I remember how it felt  
  
Verse I : Black Silk  
  
-----  
  
She immediately moved into my studio apartment and I began to forget life without her. The little quirks she added to the place seemed to complete it. She would put a new batch of flowers into the main vase on our kitchen table every week. Sometimes roses, though the smell of them always made be think of the past and I couldn't stand them for long. Couldn't stand the glint of a sword, the flow of pink strands, or the whisper of "..believe.." that would haunt my thoughts. So she would replace them with violets or often times lilies, which were my favorites. She said I constantly smelled of lilies. I loved it when I could also catch the hint of them on her. As crude as it sounds, it was like marking her.  
  
She also had an amazing way with color. I had liked the minimalistic ivory and light gold tones I had been accustomed to before her arrival, but with her there they seemed all wrong. Together we repainted the walls light tones of burgundy with violet trim. We worked late into the night and all during the day for a few days just painting. No music, no television, no distractions. Just the steady sound of a brush against a wall. Soft and soothing. That's when it really hit me. Though it was serene I suddenly realized I was not alone anymore. I could feel her presence though she was painting across the room. This place was ours now. Everything became "ours" and sometimes I felt trapped, but as always it somehow felt comforting. Natural.  
  
Our glasses were shaped like goblets with thin stems and small roses trimmed the rims the dull color of her eyes. Our dishes were plum, the color of her hair. Our sheets were black silk. Yes, our sheets. Our depthless midnight-esque sheets. I wasn't used to such dark bedding, but she had insisted. I didn't argue much since they were incredibly soft and I loved the way she laid in them. Running her skin across them all through the night.  
  
Sharing a bed I spent many a night tortured by the presence of her petite form rested next to mine. The way she breathed so softly as her chest would rise and fall with a relaxation I never knew she could feel near me. And the smooth feel of her skin when she'd curl up reflexively close to my body during the night. It was so sick because I looked forward to this hell every evening. To watch her sleep so soundly beside me. The warmth she exuded and the look in her somehow childishly innocent face as she slept was addictive.  
  
Sometimes she would talk in her sleep. Well, that's not an accurate definition. She would talk before we actually fell asleep. A surreal one-sided conversation spoken in her gentle sleepy voice. My back would be turned to her and she would lay flat on the bed, twisting her fingers amongst the sheets, brushing the tips across my arm. She would mention the school and what happened when I left. We never talked about it much anymore openly. It was a past at least I was trying to put behind me. But I couldn't resist lying awake listening to her attentively as she explained how students began disappearing.   
  
As far as she knew Miki had stayed permanently with Kozue and Touga never left his position, though Nanami and Tsuwabuki had. He gave them his blessing and it had apparently been a rather tearful departure for Nanami. Touga had grown stoic, though. Much more than usual. He was seen frequently visiting the Dean and doing his bidding, but they both had the appearance of two hard worked men with nothing left to do. Each chore or task he carried out was actually meaningless and the students began to lose faith in the school and the Dean and their seitokaichou. That's when several students began disappearing. No one gave notice any longer, they were simply gone and it was just accepted. No answers given since there were no questions and the rose garden began to die.  
  
Her stories would lull me into a restless sleep. But she immediately remedied that by curling next to me and nuzzling herself against my back. Her warm breath falling slowly and rhythmically across my skin soothed my heartache for our forgotten past. After weeks of this I began falling in love with her. Again. Though, honestly, had I ever fallen out?  
  
We began acting like a seriously upside down married couple. I would wake up to the smell of her cooking eggs or rice or maybe just cereal. I would get dressed, and she'd help if needed. Soft fingers zipping the back of a dress or shirt. And the way her hands would run through my hair. She always said how much she loved it as though it were a cherished possession. She loved the look of it slightly uncurled and the tendrils seemed to instinctively wrap around her fingers as she styled it before I left for work. It was silly, really. Hairdressers at the modeling shoots would completely redo my hair anyway, but I never wanted to spoil the moment of having her wrapped up in touching me.  
  
After work I would call and we'd either go out to eat at some little restaurant and maybe catch a movie or a museum or even a play. Other times she'd cook or we'd order in and eat off the plates the color of her hair and drink from the glasses the color of her eyes and fall asleep wrapped in the sheets that reminded me of everything about her. I'm not sure exactly when things began to change, but once they did they couldn't be stopped.  
  
My earliest memory of noticing the mutuality of our feelings or at least of some feeling was one rainy night when the electricity had been knocked out after we had eaten a meal that she'd spent the afternoon cooking. Maybe it was the wine or the candlelight we were forced to use or the ripe red cherries she presented as dessert. But something drew me to her and the way her pale fingers would caress the cherry stem as she rolled the fruit in her wine glass and then lifted it to her matching red mouth, pulling the cherry from its root as drips of wine would run down her tongue and wet her lips.  
  
Of course I'd noticed these small things before. How the way she moved made me yearn and the way she sat perfectly still caused me to ache. Maybe I'd grown up too much for my own good because I wanted nothing more than to touch her. And no longer as a friend. The excitement she had brought to my life was overwhelming at times. But now it was heightened by the candles and the rain pouring down our large bay windows as we sat on the sheets pulled down to the floor beside our bed. The shadows playing across her face made several emotions appear and I couldn't choose between the masks as to which was reflecting her actual thoughts. So I just watched and pined to lick the wine from her lips.  
  
As if by some twisted turn of fate, for once I got exactly what I wanted. She held a dripping cherry in front of my face and it took me a moment to focus and notice it there before I leaned forward and pulled the fruit. She pulled back on the stem and smiled as wine slid down over my chin. Again time seemed to speed up and then come to a complete stop. She was straddling my legs and running her tongue up from my chin to my mouth before initiating our first kiss. Our first kiss. Even now it seems unreal. It all does. The heated breath, the sweating skin, the passionate gasps and pained moans of holding back before completely letting go. Our sheets and our bodies lost definition as our senses became numbed by the suffocating intensity of it all. Everything was silk. 


	3. Verse Two : White Powder

Two Little Girls  
  
Part II  
  
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.  
  
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)  
  
Disclaimer : Characters & story - BePapas and Saito. Lyrics - Ani DiFranco.  
  
Summary : The honeymoon is over. Shiori erupts in a jealous rage and Juri battles with the vicious cycle..again.  
  
Author's Note : I look back on these old chapters with a sense of love and loathing. Much in the way Juri views Shiori from time to time, I'm sure. Oh well, I can only accept them for who they are and try better when I pick up from the end. Let me know what you're thinking.  
  
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Life with Takasuki Shiori had never been easy, but in the beginning of our romantic involvement things were unsettlingly perfect. I say this because I had been conditioned to expect only the worst to come from the best of things. Out relationship was so fragile. Well, it makes sense, really. We had a very unstable foundation of betrayal and inferiority. But this Shiori before me.. this Shiori tangled in my bed.. I wanted to believe she had grown up. I wanted to believe she had changed. I just wanted to believe. So that all my dreams would come true.  
  
The most beautiful sight was her in her the morning. She had this sleepy smile and her hair would be a little off with plumb strands poking out in wiry bits. She would crawl out of the bed, taking the sheets with her, and wrapping herself in the ebony silk while she walked to the bathroom or the kitchen. She always looked so small and I wanted nothing more than to hold her and protect her because she fit so well in my arms. I would put my faith into the way she looked at those moments; so human and so real. That was the Shiori I loved. The Shiori I cherished.  
  
Yet, we still had our moments of uncertainty. She questioned me and I questioned her twice as much. Once I was running late from a photo shoot, but she couldn't get in touch with me. My cell phone rang to voice mail because my batteries were dead. No one answered the studio line because they were closed for the day. I didn't even think of calling, so when I came home I wasn't suspecting the welcoming that greeted me.  
  
As soon as I unlocked the door I could feel that something was off. The air seemed too thick and heavy. A rather warm spring was flaring into a scorching summer and even though it was evening it felt hot in the apartment. I checked the thermostat as soon as I walked in and found that the air conditioning hadn't been turned on. Before I had a chance to adjust it I felt a presence near me. Turning I met her hard gaze and a shudder ran through me. She looked as she did that day.. the day she revealed my locket and stole my soul to use in the arena. As heartless as that day.  
  
"Where have you been."   
  
It wasn't a question, it was a demand. I tried my hardest to play it all off as if it didn't matter as much as it seemed to matter for her. I dropped my bag by the door and peeled off my cardigan, shrugging lightly but apologetically.  
  
"The shoot ran over. Helen had a problem with the wardrobe. I'm sorry.. I should of ca--"  
  
"Who's Helen."  
  
The distance in her voice startled me and I stood motionless and silent a moment before stepping forward to move past her into the living room area.  
  
"The wardrobe designer. You've met her before, Shiori."  
  
I always said her name when I felt I was explaining something she should already know. Unfortunately, she understood this.  
  
"Don't treat me like a child!"  
  
She attempted to push me, but it was weak and unbalanced, so she ended up falling against me instead. She quickly collected herself and stormed away in the opposite direction. I grabbed for her arm and she tried to jerk away, but I'm much stronger than her and it only helped to pull her back.  
  
"I'm sorry. But there's no reason for you to be acting this way, Shiori."  
  
"Let go."  
  
"It was just a shoot.. I don't always come out of them on time."  
  
"Let go of me."  
  
"Shiori! I'm only an hour late."  
  
"Let go!"  
  
She finally managed to rip her arm from my hand but immediately threw herself at me. Shivering in the warm air she pulled my tank top off over my head and pressed herself as tightly against my chest as she could. So tightly it almost hurt. But I didn't protest, I only held her. I protected her as I'd vowed to do unspokenly somewhere in the course of our relationship. We made love that night and for the first time it felt rushed and frighteningly urgent. We were sweating profusely in the muggy air of the apartment and our breathing quickly became broken and almost feral with guttural moans. I felt far away from her no matter how close she was.  
  
-----  
  
Two little girls growing out of their training bras  
  
This little girl breaks furniture, this little girl breaks laws  
  
Two girls together, just a little less alone  
  
This little girl cries wee wee wee all the way home  
  
Verse II : White Powder  
  
-----  
  
Life went on, though. At first we ignored these feverish encounters where it seemed we were both possessed by our doubts. We would force ourselves to overlook them and look only at the good. Because honestly, there was a lot of good. For the first time since childhood I could laugh. Openly and earnestly. She had this way of making everything about life exciting. She could turn the mundane into extraordinary. Dinner became the definition of romance, sleeping became meditation, shopping could be a quest. She enjoyed choosing my clothes for my shoots. She always put me in dark colors, and though I never would have chosen them myself, my photographers always commended the decision. Drastic compared to my ivory skin and tangerine curls.  
  
We began growing up, and we were doing it together. New York City was our home now and it showed in the ways we had changed. I looked more and more like an International model every day. The standoffish, cool, sleek demeanor only penetrable by her. While she became the ideal New Yorker. She dressed the part and acted it. Sometimes when I'd meet her at the coffee shop down our block or at Times Square, I would notice this aura about her. Untouchable, almost. At times it was unnerving because it reminded me of the way things were in high school, but for three months, when I came to meet this statuesque beauty she would throw her arms around me and kiss both cheeks amorously.   
  
She was so proud of me then. I would take her to countless parties just because I knew she loved them. I was always bored out of my mind, but it would be worth it to watch her stare at the studios, homes, and apartments we would frequent with a wide-eyed admiration. I'll admit I was acting selfishly to a degree, though. I adored the way those eyes would turn to me with the same amount of appreciation. She knew it was thanks to me that she was here, and she seemed content and gracious at first. But it's not like I wanted her to feel she owed me. That kind of thing was simply a perk, and I only enjoyed them because of her.  
  
But after the few months she became insistent on finding a niche for herself. At first she wanted a job, but finding one was such a hassle, and it really was futile. I had more money than the two of us needed. The countless interviews that she oddly ended up turning away before they could even accept her. Maybe I should have noticed her restlessness then. She wasn't content with anything given to her. She insisted on making things difficult.  
  
For simple pleasure she started going out almost every night. At first I would go with her and we'd have entire expeditions throughout the city. Discovering little cafes, restaurants, stores, and clubs. I wasn't very interested in any of the clubs. The noisy, smelly girth of the atmosphere inside each one was the same and only seemed to suffocate me. She, on the other hand, seemed naturally drawn to them.   
  
When I would go with her it would be like living in a play. We had the stereotypical night; dinner, independent film, club. She always dressed in dramatic colored clothing that stuck to her body, accentuating every small curve. She loved to dance, and she was good at it. People would frequently part as if the Red Sea just to watch her graceful moves. When she'd pull me on with her it was like - as cliche as it does sound - making love on the dance floor. She wasn't shy to touch, she wasn't ashamed to claim me - all of me - as her own. I can't say I protested much.  
  
But that would be it. Those days, once we came home it was all over. She might smile slightly as she drank a final glass of wine and then curl herself into the ebony sheets until she appeared to be inside a cocoon and I couldn't even tell where she was amongst the mass of silk. I would lay on my back and stare at our bare white ceiling, thinking. Always thinking. She became confusing. Sometimes at night a wandering hand would pull her body against me, as if against her conscious will, because she was never there when I woke up.  
  
I somewhat grew tired of the charades, and just skipped going out with her some nights. I would take in late hours at the studio. Even agreed to some overseas shoots. I never took them at that time, but she knew I could leave at any time if I felt like I needed to. God, I don't know how to explain everything that happened then. I'm trying to tell it in sequence, but I'm sure it was an overwhelming combination of doubts.  
  
She started coming home later and later, and smelling of beer, not the fine liquor's I was so accustomed to her drinking. Beer just seemed beneath her. It wasn't that bubbly, laughing drunk of wine and gin. This was the dark, annoying.. loud drunk of cheap booze. If I asked her where she'd been, she'd ask why I cared. If I asked if she wanted coffee, she'd tell me to go to Hell. I know she didn't mean any of it at the time, but every drunken word stems from truth. From real bitterness. I should have noticed then.  
  
I would hold her hair, which was growing more everyday, back behind her head as she would throw up in the early morning. The sweat clung to her pale forehead, and she would often cry as the rank smell creeped throughout the bathroom and embedded itself on our clothes. As I washed her face of the sweat and tears, she'd promise herself and me not to do this anymore. It was too miserable, too stupid (she'd say this with an humorously honest roll of her eyes), and too expensive. Yet, we'd convene the next morning - same place, same time, same reason. I was so blind.  
  
One night I got out of the studio earlier than I usually allowed myself to, but the recent morning sobs had made me feel guilty for leaving her alone to deal with everything that was apparently battling inside of her. It was Thursday, there was a club I knew she'd be at. Walking through the city that night, I felt the cool air around my legs curl up around my body and it felt like her until it reached my neck and it was suddenly hard to breathe. But.. I had just reached the club, and it was just the smoke of the people hanging around outside smoking. And she was one of them..  
  
It was just strange seeing her with a cigarette. It wasn't really that big of a deal, it was just the way she handled it. She rolled it between her fingers gently and would run her teeth off the edge of it when she pulled it from her lips. It was so expertly done, every movement. Almost sensual. But I'd never seen her smoke. I didn't understand why I wouldn't have seen her since it looked like she had been smoking for awhile.  
  
She was leaning against the wall, her short black boots tapping against the sidewalk as she laughed at some guy who was leaning closer to her every second. At that moment I stopped and watched. I know it sounds immature and paranoid, but I had to. This wasn't Shiori. This woman before me was not the woman I loved. Every movement was estranged. Finally, he pushed off from the wall to walk back inside. But not before cupping her cheek in one hand and kissing her on the side of her lips. Her eyes were open and she laughed halfway through the almost casual gesture. That wasn't what I noticed though.. I noticed him slip something into her furry black jacket pocket and as he removed his hand he gave her hip a tight squeeze before winking and walking inside.  
  
I went home. The entire transaction had been too surreal. It was like watching some hooker get paid before being sent back onto the street. It just wasn't my Shiori. It seemed so natural to that girl by the club to be patted and kissed by some guy. So natural for her to smoke and tease and have this cruel look of mocked innocence in her violet eyes. As soon as I walked in the door I threw my keys on the side end table by the door. A seldom used commodity, that quickly lost its seldom use. The keys slid off of it.. and I don't know if it was my frustration or my jealousy, but I grabbed the keys and slammed them back onto the table. Going at that momentum they only slipped back off. My hand clenched and when it unclenched the table was five feet away from me, with the bottom drawer cracked open and some sand-like substance seeping out of it.  
  
At first I couldn't believe I had broken the table, but that quickly became the least of my concerns. The little bit of white powder that began collecting from its hiding place onto the floor held my attention for several minutes until I got up the nerve to approach it. By then it had peaked off, this small pyramid of an illegal substance. I was a model, I knew what cocaine was, but I didn't want to believe it. I didn't touch the stuff. But how could she? I finally allowed myself to remember the glimmer of ivory in the tiny bag the guy slipped her.  
  
When she finally came home, a little more sober than usual, she found me huddled by the broken table as I'd been hours before. Staring at the floor.. and then letting my cold gaze raise to her. She knew immediately, and immediately tried to play off the importance of the situation. She tossed her jacket onto the counter, and sniffed absently, pushing a strand of her wild hair behind her ear.   
  
"What? Go ahead. Tell me how stupid I am."  
  
I slowly stood up without a word and grabbed her jacket before she could stop me, and pulled out the new stash. I held in tightly in my hand as my knuckles matched the bag's contents. I threw it at her feet and dropped her jacket carelessly.  
  
"I couldn't give a damn."  
  
She tried to not let the shock and pain show, but it flickered for a moment across her features. It was the complete opposite of what I felt. I knew that and I think honestly she knew it, too. But.. that I could say that showed a change in something. I picked up my keys casually from the ground and walked past her without a glance, and out the door. I knew then, and I wished I didn't. Something always had to screw up. Where did I go wrong?  
  
I walked for at least two hours that night. Thank god for all night coffee shops. I drank a latte and felt sick. Everything ached, especially my brain. When had it started? Why hadn't I noticed? Why would she do this? It seemed too senseless. So unlike her. But maybe even I wasn't myself here. How much had this real world changed us?  
  
When I got home I wasn't surprised to not find her there, but I was surprised to find the note placed upon the table with a book supporting the faulty leg against the clean floor.   
  
Dear Juri,  
  
You must hate me for being like this. I can't take this world anymore. I can't hide from my dreams, from my past. And neither can you. I'm going back to the only place I remotely belonged in. Don't follow me; you shine here. You shine everywhere. You blind me with your light, Ouji-sama.  
  
Your Shadow, Shiori 


	4. Verse Three : Blue Ice

Two Little Girls  
  
Part III  
  
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.  
  
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)  
  
Disclaimer : Characters & story - BePapas and Saito. Lyrics - Ani DiFranco.  
  
Summary : Alone again, Juri faces life in the big city without Shiori and runs into an old friend who has news from the school that once trapped them both.  
  
Author's Note : This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I really like the character I got to introduce into the plot so that made it fun. Anyway, this is still one of the old chapters! I sure did write quite a bit and let it just rot. I hope there's still breath in these words to continue to an end. Let me know what you think!  
  
----------  
  
Life without Takatsuki Shiori was numbing. In the beginning I did not cry. It wasn't that I refused to or anything. I simply couldn't. I hadn't truly accepted it all, yet. I'm sure I was in a state of shock. A call would be for her and I would say she wasn't in and for the caller to try again.. instinctively.. before even remembering her absence. Her mail began to pile on the table next to her side of the bed - the left side. And I never took the entire surface of the mattress, or all of the covers. That area seemed too cold to touch.  
  
What caused my breakdown was when I found my locket. No, not my first shattered locket. But another one, identical to it, with the golden blooming petals stiff and firm and shining new. It was in a thin black velvet box with a simple black bow tied around it. She'd left two weeks before my birthday, I found it in the bottom drawer of her dresser while looking for candles a week after. I was 20 and sobbing like I was 5. The picture she'd placed inside of it was the one I took of her one afternoon in Central Park by a large, blossoming tree. She was looking straight at me. Smiling at me, laughing at me and a moment we shared. She wasn't looking away anymore.  
  
And now she was gone. It was hard to accept, which is why I began wearing the locket. The heavy gold chain weighed heavy on my neck and my conscience. I missed her, and I was reminded of it every second of every day. At work they never complained about my new found apathy. Reviewers called my recent look in my modeling photos sensual and full of an honest grit. They were blind. They didn't see the pain hidden behind my stoic stares. They were just like my classmates from Ootori. I felt like I was reliving the life I led there so many years ago and I simply let it happen.  
  
The less I had to do, the better. I never attended parties anymore, unless my manager insisted for the sake of my image. Even then, while I was there I only spoke to those people I was obligated to speak to. Otherwise I sat at home and read if I could. Sometimes I found it hard to concentrate. Even after a month, the place still smelled of her. I kept wondering where she was. What she was doing, who she was with. Did she make it to Ootori? Could you actually just walk back in? Had it changed? Will she change? I could not answer these questions, so they kept invading my thoughts. I also became somewhat of an insomniac - which the agency did have a problem with. I began to look weak I suppose. There was so little to work for anymore, and it started to show.   
  
The holiday season was a long, torturous ordeal. Families and couples were around every corner, with excited smiles and bulging bags full of gifts. I realized with a deep sinking feeling that I had no one to buy for and nothing to look forward to. The holidays are so empty when there's no one to spend them with. The presents become shallow, the carols become tuneless, and every wide-eyed child appears soulless to a cynic at Christmas. I don't remember there ever being a Christmas at Ootori, really. Once I began attending school there the passage of time seemed non-existent. I wanted to be there again, so I wouldn't be the only one living in a world where such things never mattered.  
  
When Christmas morning arrived I woke up as a normally did. I made a cup of coffee (with a shot of amaretto). I ate a bagel with marmalade and cream cheese. I checked my messages. I read the paper. Everything occurred as usual. As dull, and empty as usual. Yet, around noon I was suddenly overcome with a craving for shaved ice. I know it makes no logical sense. Who in the Hell wants shaved ice on Christmas morning in the middle of New York City? But I wanted it so I went out to find it. What else did I have to do?  
  
I slipped out of my apartment building, bundled in my large black winter coat, to meet the freezing winter day. I walked down my block, and through the next, trying to keep as far from the sounds of the Macy's day parade as possible. The longer I walked, though, the more I realized no vendor in his right mind would stray from the festivities if he planned to make any money. Hell, any vendor in his right mind wouldn't be selling shaved ice. Right as I thought this I caught a familiar scent in the air. Sweet.. almost too sweet.. like roses and warm bath water. And sunlight. I followed the scent into a small shop, noticing as I wandered in that the sign offered ice cream and Italian ice. A small figure stood by the bar; strands of blue hair peeking from their jacket hood.  
  
"I'll have an Italian ice, please.. blueberry."  
  
-----  
  
You were always half crazy, Now look at you baby  
  
You make about as much sense as a nursery rhyme  
  
Love is a piano, dropped from a four-story window  
  
And you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time  
  
Verse III : Blue Ice  
  
-----  
  
"Juri-sempai!"  
  
He spoke first, as was custom. His azure eyes were just as I remembered them and seeing them brighten at the sight of me stirred an old, odd feeling. I felt contented and comfortable in his presence, even after all this time.  
  
"Miki-kun.."  
  
He came forward, his dessert paid for and in hand, shock still playing across his rosy cheeks, "What a surprise, sempai! Imagine finding you here."  
  
"I sent you letters, Miki-kun. I've lived here for two years, now."  
  
His smile slackened a bit as he pushed his jacket hood back, revealing longer, lighter blue hair than I remembered, "Oh? I never got any.."  
  
And we both knew why.   
  
He perked his smile up again, brushing the thought away and the memories it brought with it. "Well, at least I've found you, now."  
  
I blinked, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. Had he been searching for me? All this time? "Had you been looking?", I questioned.  
  
Being the honest soul he was, he logically shook his head faintly, "I'm sorry.. I hadn't. I had no clue where to start, sempai."  
  
That made more sense. I felt balanced again as I nodded.. but followed with an inquiry, "Then what are you doing here?"   
  
"I'm actually.. I'm looking for my sister."  
  
Kozue.   
  
I took Miki to a local bowling alley and between strikes he explained to me everything that had happened at Ootori since Shiori had left, since she'd informed me of that much. Akio no longer made any public appearances after his fiancée, Kanae, took her own life. In fact, many people thought he committed suicide as well, in misery of his loss. But we seitokai know much better. As soon as Miki told me of the woman's death I suspected Akio as the cause. Besides, even if she had killed herself, he would never take his precious life in the name of her worthless existence. Touga took over for the most part, but even he began to look like the living dead.   
  
Miki once spoke to him, but Kiryuu-san seemed like a puppet with fading strings. Yet the strings had been in place for so long, Miki doubted Touga would even know what to do if they ever finally broke. I pitied the martyr seitokaichou. He was essentially sacrificing himself for the greater good of Ootori. Only he could charm Akio into thinking he was still brilliant and omnipotent. With Touga distracting the Dean the students were able to leave with little interference. Though, really, what could Akio do now? My honest belief is that Touga felt he had no where else to go. Might as well spend the rest of his days doing something familiar. Playing the game would be less painful than living in a world where Utena was, because he could not have her. She had refused him and staying in Ootori was his way of asserting his last shred of free will; his personal suicide.   
  
When Miki revealed the disappearance of his sister, I struck my first gutter ball of all-time and slumped into the seat in front of the score monitor. 'KM' and 'AJ' seemed too bright, stark white letters on the blue screen, as I stared at our scores. I was kicking Miki's ass, but I found no comfort in it. Kozue was with Shiori.  
  
"When Takatsuki-san returned to Ootori it was all anyone ever talked about for weeks. Apparently she's the only one to successfully return. I believe Akio-san had something to do with it, you shouldn't just be able to walk back into school like that."  
  
He was right, Saionji had to strike up a contract in order to return from simple expulsion. I wondered what Shiori had to do to come back from reality.. no, I didn't want to know. Slowly my bowling shoes seemed to pinch my toes and the loud crash of pins echoed in my ears. Miki's gentle voice was so distant.  
  
"She and Kozue immediately formed a close...bond."  
  
I darkened. Thankful to hear this from Miki, yet knowing the kinder he was, the worse he meant by it.  
  
"In two short weeks she was gone. No note, no message, no good-bye. I have to find her, sempai. Just to make sure she's alright."   
  
He suddenly seemed older to me. Miki was not chasing after her like some weak link, unable to function without his crutch. He was being responsible. He only wanted to ensure her safety. I only hoped he would keep up my ideal of him and not falter if he found her. Miki deserved to be free. We all did. I finally managed to speak, still in shock that Shiori had mostly been out of Ootori the past few months and I'd heard no word from her, "Why are you looking here, Miki-kun?"  
  
I heard the sound of crinkling paper as he removed a sheet out of his pocket, smoothing the creases and handed it to me. It was a poster for some club downtown and a small picture in the corner looked like Shiori and Kozue standing so close together that you couldn't tell whose hand was where as they interlocked in each others' arms. The announcement was for a performance by the band Kuroi Chouchou. How fitting.   
  
The performance wasn't for another week, they were the opening act for the New Year's Eve show. That kind of surprised me. I'd heard Shiori sing in the shower, but I never knew she actually had musical talent. Then again, the crap on the radio these days can hardly be called music for the most part. So, I had no clue what the show would be like.   
  
Miki stayed with me that week and it was a nice change. I realized that I'd actually missed the simple company of having a roommate and Miki, being the quiet and unassuming person he is, made a good companion. In seven short days we fell into a strange sort of routine. We woke up at the same time; him from his couch, me from my cold bed. Must be in it for the student council. Or maybe at least for us. We commonly met for fencing practice early in the morning at Ootori. Waking at 6 AM was still a habit.   
  
I was on vacation from the studio. They'd asked me to take two weeks off for the holidays and some rest. I guess the dark circles and puffiness from no sleep and crying had been noticeable in early December. So, with my free time, Miki and I reminisced. I actually picked up a rapier again.  
  
There would be few times later in my life that I ever touched a sword and then only to remember. This time, with Miki, would be one of those times I would cherish. I won't say it was like old times. That wouldn't particularly be a good thing. It was an all-new memory. The local gym had an area set aside for fencing and Miki and I rented it out almost every day that week. We exchanged few words during out precious hour. Our rapier's spoke for us. I still had it. The special flare that made me a Victor in the dojo at Ootori. It felt good to hear my point catch on the cotton fabric of Miki's rented padding. The sound always reminded me of a candle being snuffed out.  
  
Miki still also had a strong control over his style. I always admired how he was constantly learning. Every move I made that beat him in one match would be perfected by him in the next. He was a very admirable opponent. He always was. The thing that made the duels most enjoyable, though, was how win or lose, it never changed. He never grew bitter and I never became bored. It was a mutual respect and need to get out past aggressions concerning the lives we once led and the lives we now had to lead that fueled our duels. I won't be modest; we often drew a crowd.  
  
The rest of the time we went out to lunch and dinner. We saw old movies at old theatres. And we also talked. I opened up to Miki like I'd never had in Ootori. Don't get me wrong, I was still secretive and many of my comments were like riddles, but it was the best I could do. We owed it to each other to reveal a bit of ourselves. At school we both felt alone, but the other one was a constant presence that still somewhat helped. We understood each other without having to explain ourselves. It had been comforting and I was grateful for it.  
  
I had gotten the tickets for the show as soon as Miki told me about it. Pulling strings I got VIP passes, which pretty much meant that at any time we could go to the foot of the small stage and even backstage. It was just a club, but the main band was pretty popular so I didn't want to take any chances on not being able to talk to Shiori. As the day approached I found myself morbidly staring at the poster. I had kept it and took it out every night after Miki was asleep. His soft breathing always deepened around midnight, so I'd pull the paper from the nightstand drawer and look at the foreign couple.   
  
Shiori's hair was to her shoulders now, but it was spiky and straighter. She had also lost what little tan she'd once had and looked incredibly pale. Almost sick, in my opinion. Her little black dress hung off of her slender body, which was bony. Kozue's hair seemed shorter on the edges, slicked down with gel and sticking out on the ends. In the picture she wore a halter-top and a miniskirt. Both black. Their bodies were so close that it disgusted me and they seemed to be staring right at me, mocking me with their wicked grins.   
  
Their eyes were dark, pitch in color because of bad shadowing. How had she gotten herself into this? How had Shiori..my Shiori..become partners with Kozue? The school whore. And that's what she was. Believe me, as a student council member, I knew everything about every student. It was unimaginable to think that Kozue and Miki were born from the same mother, nevertheless the same egg. It was insane to imagine Shiori enjoying Kozue's company. The girl was seemed so simple. She slept with practically every guy and I often wondered if she did it because the one guy she wanted to sleep with wouldn't possibly allow her to.  
  
Having Shiori with Kozue was somehow even worse than Ruka. At least with Ruka I could somewhat understand. I could see the attraction and as sick as it sounds, it almost pleased me. Ruka and I were so much alike. A part of me had felt like.. maybe, a bit of Shiori could love me if she could fall in love so quickly with Ruka. But, that was the old Shiori. The woman I had known months previously wouldn't have fallen into such a relationship. And that's when it hit me.  
  
She hadn't changed. Looking at that vindictive smile caught eternally on paper caused bile to rise in my throat. That familiar glimmer of darkness. Maybe a part of her had grown up but it seemed perfectly clear that the matured portion of herself died when she reentered Ootori. She was reverting back to her old ways. The ways I couldn't understand. The Shiori that confused and tormented me. Suddenly my necklace felt like it was choking me and I had to unclasp it from my neck, letting it fall loosely into my hand. I suddenly would feel guilty and wish I'd never left her alone after the fight that night. Never given Shiori a chance to run back to a place that offered only suffering.  
  
Sometimes I simply couldn't stomach it and I'd toss the poster back in the drawer, slamming it closed. Yet, I could still feel their eyes upon me. I'd have to close my eyes, wrap my fingers around my loose locket, and focus on Miki's gentle breathing from the futon in order to fall asleep. 


	5. Verse Four : Green Leaves

A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.  
  
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)  
  
Disclaimer : Characters & story - BePapas and Saito-sama. Lyrics - Ani DiFranco.  
  
Summary : Juri and Miki confront the ones they're searching for and find comfort in friendship to help get them through these times.  
  
Author's Note : I wanna take a chance to thank the few, wonderful people who reviewed me so quickly and gave me so much encouragement.  
  
drama-nerd016 - Thanks for your advice! But I wrote those first four chapters years ago so I wanted a review of it all before I continued - to see if I should continue. Thanks to you and others I see I should. :)  
  
Cian - I'm glad you approve of my character choices and such. It's great to hear an Utena fan agreeing with my ideas!  
  
kino amiko kun - Your review certainly meant the most to me because you flatter me greatly, too greatly! I don't deserve it. :) But thank you nonetheless and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.  
  
Now, on with the show! I dedicate this chapter to my best friend Reika for all her support. It was thanks to her that I even picked this story back up again. I've felt down about my creative endeavors lately and her recent, well deserved success in writing has gotten me inspired to try again. I need to finish this story and get it out of my head. It's been sitting there for years, waiting patiently - a little dried rose. Let's hope I can do it justice after so long.   
  
*pops in an Ani cd*  
  
-----  
  
Two Little Girls  
  
Part IV  
  
-----  
  
If I thought Christmas felt alienating, New Year's was like being the only one not invited to a party the world was throwing. Couples lined the streets, melded together like one being - fingers intertwined, laughter connected, bodies gravitating toward each other. I obviously couldn't have been the only single white female left in the city, but it seemed that way to my jaded eyes. Thank god for Miki, my silent companion. The boy was quiet as we headed out of the apartment towards downtown. We had decided to avoid the city traffic by walking, letting the cold evening air sting our faces and force color into our pale cheeks. Thank god he stayed close to me. I could see his head out of the corner of my eye at all times; inches below me, always next to me.  
  
"This is my first new year."  
  
I knew the words had many implications as soon as they slipped from his lips. His cold, chapped lips that he rubbed together self-consciously. It struck me for the first time that it had taken him four years longer to leave Ootori than me. Four years that I had spent traveling. Four years I had spent independent. Four years of my life that were nothing compared to the nine months I'd had with Shiori.   
  
"I've been gone almost a month." he stated clearly, almost proudly. Then his voice trailed with his words, "...three weeks... six days... two hours... twenty-eight minutes... thirty-one seconds..."   
  
I glanced to the side and noticed the stopwatch in his hand for the first time. He seemed to be staring into it, beyond it. Beyond everything in the way that only his gaze could. I felt like I should say something. As if this was my cue to explain things to him like a mentor would. To comfort him and encourage him, but what could I say? The glare of the streetlamps off of the watch face mocked me as it ticked time away like it always had. Cataloguing life in a place where it really happened. It seemed unnecessary, it seemed like a crutch. I wanted him to throw it away. But instead he slipped it back in his pocket, as if he'd never checked it. I don't think he meant to in front of me. I don't think he even realized that he had. That's the thing about bad habits.   
  
Many trite phraes went through my mind. Cheap words concerning how I enjoyed his company this week and how glad I was he had escaped, but had he really escaped yet? Had any of us? Could we? Instead of saying anything worth saying, I simply said the obvious.  
  
"We're here."  
  
We slipped into a back alley that posed as an entrance the dark club that was swarming with drunk patrons. Young flesh grinding on the dance floor and squeezing against each other to get their next drink, another fix, from the long bar across the back of the building. Miki looked out of place, with his young pure face, but he was not questioned by the bouncer as he entered. His slim build, melted into dark pants and a simple white dress shirt - buttoned but untucked - beneath a tight blue sweater. He took his slightly oversized blazer along with my cardigan and left them at a coat room before joining me by the bar. We were an oddly matched pair, I knew. Even in low heels I stood so much taller than him, this child-like man at my side. He surprised me by brushing his hand across my lower back as he leaned in to ask if I wanted anything to drink. It reminded me of another time, another place.  
  
"Here we are alone together, but you're just not sexy.." I murmured playfully. Miki looked rather taken aback as his cheeks reddened before he grinned lightly at the joke. But we were interrupted as the lights turned painfully bright on the main stage.  
  
"Shiori.." I stammered, stepping away from the bar as she slipped onto the stage. She looked sick, quite frankly. Skinny and pale, and yet so alluring. I only caught a glimpse of her, skin and lace, before I heard Miki gasp and saw Kozue behind her. Too close to her, whispering in her ear, causing a soft laugh that was lost in the murmur of the crowd, thus silent once it reached me. They were not to perform yet, though. The light had been for a smug looking young MC at the cent of the stage who grabbed the mic and craddled it like dance partner while he yelled out into the crowd, "Who's ready for action?!"  
  
The club errupted with cheers, arms reaching for a sky blocked out by catwalks and gawdy lights above them. The man introduced a short act as the lights dimmed. Shadows played across the two female beat poets that appeared, obscuring their faces as they crept across the stage to start their mad riddle act. One had braided pigtails and the other had short curly hair with a bow at the top. They were slim, but I couldn't quite make out their outfits. Skirts and blouses perhaps - almost familiar. But before I could question it, they started.  
  
"The year of the GOAT!" cried the first girl, her face hidden as the second crawled up next to her with two horns curled around her head. She bleeted out a low "Baaa..." before the first turned around in one whirl and was suddenly wearing an old crone's costume. She bent down at an awkward, aged angle, stretching her hands out to the goat-girl who sat on her haunches and mused for the crowd, "I know an old lady who swallowed a goat."  
  
She seemed to then suddenly gasp at the idea, continuing, "Popped open her throat, and swallowed a goat!" The first girl, in crone guise, open her mouth wide, leaping after the goat who barely jumped away, but when she turned around she had on floppy ears and a wagging tail. "She swallowed the goat to catch the dog," Another leap and a turn, doning cat ears and whiskers, "she swallowed the dog to catch the cat," A bound before two small wings were on her back and a beak above her mouth, "she swallowed the cat to catch the bird," The crone snatched for the bird-girl, who fluttered the wings comically until she dropped to a heap on the floor, then uncostumed and acting as if she couldn't be seen she raised a small stick with a plastic spider attached to the end and waved it front of the first girl, "she swallowed the bird to catch the spider - that wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside her." The spider was bounced along the girls head, who made a wild grab for it while she did a ridiculous jig across the stage, as if possessed. Then made to look like she ate it, string dangling empty as a light buzzing sound played over the line of tall speakers by the stage and around the sides of the dance floor, "She swallowed the spider to catch the fly." A curved leap was made by the first girl, very un-crone-like in its pirouette style while her baggy clothes flapped around her, and she landed with a loud gulp as the buzzing ceased and her rags settled.  
  
"I don't know why she swallowed the fly." said girl one, with an honest curiosity in her voice.  
  
"Perhaps she'll die." I echoed quietly with the performers as they finished their rhyme for a speechless audience.  
  
-----  
  
I don't like your girlfriend, yeah I don't like her  
  
Never seen one of your lovers do you so much harm  
  
I loved you first and you know I would prefer   
  
If she didn't empty her syringes into your arm  
  
Verse IV : Green Leaves  
  
-----  
  
The announcer laughed apologetically to the crowd as the nameless performers bounded off the stage, hobbling under their collection of costumes and props. No one seemed to know what to make of the duo. They couldn't even boo them, they were too dumb-founded. The act had been beyond comprehension and there was something oddly comforting about that for me. Perhaps even for Miki, who looked lost in memories beside me. But everyone else began coming to their senses, starting up a low rumble for the next act to begin.   
  
"Well! After that ..interesting.. display, I'm sure you're all ready for the ladies of the evening!" The rumble turned into a dull roar as Miki and I made our way towards the front left of the stage with a bit of anxiety in our steps. "Kaoru Kozue and Takatsuki Shiori have deigned to grace our stage tonight with their lovely.. talented.. selves." His voice got deeper and muskier as he went, the mic stand crushed against his body as he winked at the crowd. I began to notice how dirty the club looked to me, how rough the crowd seemed. "You're in for quite a show, folks - Kuroi Chouchou!!"  
  
Our eyes were trained to the side of the stage. Miki and I could pick out their shadows before they even stepped into the lights. They looked as if they were accustomed to the glare - but how long could they have even been performing? Maybe a few weeks? Shiori raised a trained hand to block a bit of the bright red light pouring over her form and looked out into the crowd. Her hair was grazing her shoulders, flat and stringy. She wore a tight pale purple peasant blouse, with short puffed sleeves. Her skirt was grey and ruffled with lace beanth, fanning out short across her thighs as white thigh-highs melted down her thin legs into black mary janes. Taking a seat on a stool the MC had placed in front of the mic, she picked up a small guitar. I didn't even know she played.   
  
Shiori flicked the crowd a rose-red grin before bowing her head and beginning to pluck soft, slow chords along the strings. She rocked with the sound, losing herself already. I thought she looked bleached out under the abuse of the lights - like an over exposed photo. It was several moments before I even noticed the piano playing in the background. Forcing my eyes off of Shiori I saw Kozue sitting rigidly behind a keyboard at her partners' side. I imagined Miki in her place for only a moment and wondered if he still played. Her fingers moved nimbly over the keys in a low sticato and I could easily tell who got the talent in the family. Perhaps, as Miki often insisted, it took both of them to be really good. She certainly had style, but it was soulless.   
  
I was pulled from my thoughts however as she set the keyboard to loop the bit she had just played so that she could rise from her bench and approach the guitarist. Kozue was wearing a navy blue corsett, tied tightly across her middle but undone at the top to show a bit of clevage through the thread that tied it together. She had fingerless fishnet gloves up to her forearms and a jet black straight, short skirt hanging from her bony hips. Her pale legs were bare down to the tall boots that stepped soundlessly behind Shiori, pulling the guitar from her hands to sit back in its stand.  
  
"Little Miss Muffet..." she began. I'd never known the girl well or really ever heard her talk, but I knew her voice must be deeper than usual from the look of confusion Miki was giving her. The look I gave her was much different, though. It was one of malice, jealousy, anger - as those nimble fingers reached forward to touch Shiori, my Shiori. "Set on her tuffet.." her hands slipped around from behind, one curling up between the seated girls' breasts - teasing the lip of the peasant blouse with a pinky. "Eating her curds and weigh.." Kozue leaned forward, nibbling the ear of my ex-lover. Licking the lobe with a familiarity that made me cold.  
  
"Then along came a spider.." Kozue made Shiori gasp into the microphone, her head falling back against the standing girl's shoudler as her hand curled grotesquetly into an arachnid-like shape and squeezed the brunette's upper thigh. "Who crawled up inside her," the hand traveled further, parting Shiori's legs for the crowd as it disappeared into the folds of her ruffled skirt, moving deeper as her voice gained an edge from her moans, "And /i Miss Muffet to play." Her first hand openly gripped and massaged Shiori's right breast as her breathing became ragged and shallow.   
  
"What's with all the friggin' nursery rhymes?" I heard a gruff man near me ask another. The second only shrugged with a laugh and said, "Who cares, man? They're practically fucking!"  
  
"Play... play... play..." Shiori began her mantra on the stage in a raspy voice stuck somewhere in her throat. I knew that voice and I suddenly missed that voice with a vengence. It was the voice she had when I touched her, drove her, took her, made her mine. The voice that once cried out my name in the dark and begged for more. I felt unbelievably dirty hearing it echoing through a sound system, surrounded by a crowd of people - hearing it created by someone else's attentions.  
  
"This is sick." I heard Miki say before I could even form the thought. "Why would she.. what is she about??" he demaded to himself and to no one at all. I felt sorry for him in that moment, more sorry than I was for myself. This was his sister. His flesh and blood, ravaging a girl on stage for all the world to see. We were both disgusted and ashamed for the four of us. But almost without warning, Kozue retreated and the guitar was back in Shiori's lap as she ripped into it, starting a quick song that the keyboard accompanied with quick bursts of harmony.  
  
"Girls and boys, come out to play," Shiori sang, her face bright with lust. Her peasant blouse hung lower on one side, soft pink flesh almost peeking unabashedly out behind the fabric. "The moon is shining as bright as day!"   
  
"Leave your supper, and leave your sleep," Kozue broke in, standing as she played, bumping her hips from side to side as she went, "And come with your playfellows into the street."  
  
"Come with a whoop, come with a call, come with a good will or not at all," they both cried out shrilly, their heads rolling with the music, their bodies moving off beat, "Up the ladder and down the wall, A halfpenny roll will serve us all." The crowd bounced around us, jumping and swaying to the song that seemed to infect them all like a disease. "You find milk, and I'll find flour," Kozue called across to Shiori, who looked out over and above the crowd hungrily, "And we'll have pudding in half an hour."  
  
-----  
  
Miki couldn't take it any longer. After that first song he fought through the crowd, slipped from my side, and I could feel the emptiness as soon as his presence was gone. That was the thing about Miki, when he left your side without warning he seemed to take away your stability. Even I could sense that. Maybe that was a bit of what Kozue felt. Without him she must be a tree without a trunk - without a trunk you have no roots. You're just dead limbs. And that's suddenly what I saw. Dead limbs doing a macabre dance on the stage with a lifeless doll. I needed fresh air.  
  
"Miki...Miki!" I called his name as I pushed past people on my way towards the door. The club was suddenly suffocating to me. The people were all faceless and deaf as I asked for passage through them. Finally I reached the alley way and found him panting against the brick wall, sweat on his sweet young face that was pulled into a grimace. The few smokers out there gave us room, turning their backs to us but passing many a curious glance.   
  
"How could they?!" he asked the wind, the world. "That song.. that opening! Do you know what they're alluding to? Milk and flour.. feh.. Kozue must be on drugs. They're on drugs, sempai!" Even now he's formal. I idly wonder if he thinks you'd have to be on drugs to want Shiori. But I know what he means. They both appeared strung out, barely able to focus on their instruments, nevertheless the crowd. Their arms had clear tracks cutting jagged highways of indulgence across their flesh. "They're sick, sempai. We have to help them."  
  
I pondered the comment only a moment before I answered without looking up, "Will they want it?"  
  
-----  
  
The main band had been on a few minutes by the time Miki and I made our way back into the club so the wings were filled with groupies swooning over the all-male band. I spoke the bouncer who helped us in through a side door and towards a very casual green room. The backstage was an orgy of people. Girls in short skirts, guys in tight pants, managers schmoozing, drunken fans throwing themselves on any one who'd give them a chance to stick their tongues down their throats. I didn't want to see this, I didn't want to associate this to Shiori. Hadn't she been pure once? Hadn't she been simple and young and carefree?   
  
"Onii-san!" We were found first. A bush of spiky blue hair bounded past me to wrap herself around Miki. Her arms enveloped him as she nuzzled her face against his neck, mmmming happily. She was completely out of it. Flustered, Miki detangled himself from his sister, staring at her in disapproving shock.   
  
"Kozue, what are you.. you have to stop this!" his voice was low and hissed out of his mouth, but his eyes were pleading. It was a lost cause, she only laughed and draped a skinny arm over his shoulder, "Oh, Miki, stop what? I'm just having fun." Miki stared at the inside of the arm displayed in front of him and he grabbed for it, pulling it in front of his face, "You think this is fun? This is bad, Kozue.." I could see his eyes determing what could of caused the tracks and how much would be necessary in the short amount of time she'd been out. Then the cold blue flickered over the people around the room "These people are bad."  
  
Kozue laughed flippantly, jerking her arm away, "Miki.." her voice gained a bit of control back as she addressed him by name, "it's absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious." She sneaked her fingers into the scruff of hair behind his neck, bringing him nose to nose with her, "And you, dear brother, and being far from charming." She pecked him on the lips before he could react and turned him to face the room as she announced, "Everyone - this is my brother. He has my good looks, but he hardly has my stellar personality." Everyone laughed, even if they hadn't heard her, they just knew to laugh.  
  
But one laugh I caught in the air, like the song of a bird - albeit a very tired bird. As the people parted, some approaching the twins with interest, I noticed Shiori standing in the doorframe of a dressing room. She looked worse up close than she did from stage. Her hair was so thin and her rather yellow hued skin was tight on her bones. There were dark, permanent circles under her eyes which looked somewhat bloodshot. She was so unhealthy. I wanted to approach her and wrap her up in my arms. Comfort her, heal her, mend her - but my legs wouldn't move. Her eyes caught mine just as her new partner passed by me towards the door, leaving her brother unattended with a group of gossiping girls. Kozue hadn't spoken to me, yet, but I had a feeling she knew I was there. She knew. She knew everything.  
  
As soon as she reached Shiori, Kozue pushed her against the door and took a deep kiss from her. She pulled the peasant blouse all the way below her chest, leaving her top naked and vulnerable. "There.. I like you better like that." Shiori didn't budge, even when one of Kozue's hands slipped to a nipple that the girl openly rolled between her fingers. "I think you like it, too." Shiori shrugged, wordlessly, but forced a smudged smile - her lipstick rubbed to the edges.   
  
I narrowed my eyes distrustfully, I'm sure. This was certainly not the Shiori I knew. Even her faults were not the same. The Shiori she knew could be selfish, pushy, and self-centered - but weak? Weakness was what Shiori loathed. Strength of self is what she strived for. I was not as angered by Kozue fondling Shiori as I was by Shiori taking it all so passively. She was a doll. She was lifeless.   
  
"Mmm.. you took your medicine, good girl.." Kozue praised, rubbing a fresh injection wound on Shiori's inner arm. "Look, now," she motioned towards us, "our Princes have come to rescue us. Isn't that a laugh?"  
  
I was finally moved into action by this, but Miki beat me to her. "Kozue, leave her alone! Don't you see how sick she is?" Miki ripped Kozue from Shiori, pushing the blouse up carefully and kindly, raising light fingers to brush back her dirty hair from her lifeless eyes. "My God.. is she even conscious in there?" Shiori managed to part her broken, dry lips and utter a gutteral, "..play."  
  
I'm not sure what it was - the drugs, the tension, the stress, or a combination - but Kozue snapped within the moment, pushing Miki back violently. "Why don't you just get the fuck out of my life, onii-san? Isn't that what you wanted? Didn't you want me gone? I left and now you hunt me down like a dog. I'm not your bitch, Miki.. I don't need you!" And suddenly she paused before she broke into a vicious laugh, "But you need me! Don't you? Don't you?! HA! Look at you.. you wilt without me, don't you? You wilt without someone to support - someone to be better than." She choked on her laugh, so amused with herself. "You need something shining - so it can shine on YOU!"  
  
She was desperate to hurt him, desperate to prove herself. The entire room was silent as she laughed herself to tears and then Shiori suddenly burst out in an echo. But Miki could only stare, and there was no readable expression on his face. I felt completely lost in all of this. My emotions, my thoughts were completely numb. I felt like I was watching a movie and not my own life. Was this life? It seemed like all the questions I'd ever had were suddenly screaming to be answered and I had no clue where to begin. I was pulled out of my revere by the familiar sound of Shiori throwing up. She was doubled over a trash can by the door, vomiting more than I thought could fit in her malnourished body. Some groupie hurried over to her, holding her sides and looking back at us with naive young eyes that had seen a lot - but not enough to really understand. "You two should just go," she demanded, squeezing Shiori tightly and causing a new wave sickness.  
  
And Miki startled me by complying. He simply walked on command towards the back door. When he passed Kozue her laughter faded into soft hiccups as she watched after him, a little thunder struck by his move. I could only follow. I was overloaded. I felt completely out of control so I followed Logic out into the night, hoping Reason could give me solice and understanding. Even though I knew it would be far too much to ask from him right now. I welcomed the cold air into my nostrils as it washed out the putrid stench still wafting from backstage and I walked a few steps behind my co-captain.  
  
We rounded corners, weaving between mass groups of people, trying to keep as far from Times Square as possible. The people were still faceless to me. I had too many faces in my head already, I didn't need to add more strangers to it. My past was battling with my present, memories super-imposed over each other. Miki was so quiet that he almost reminded me of.. me. I felt I was seeing the real Miki for the first time and it was almost frightening. To see someone for the first time when you thought you'd known for what seemed like forever.  
  
We'd managed to find our way into the edge of Central Park. There were many people there as an outside concert went on at the south side. But he finally seemed spent as he stopped and sat on an unexpected bench.  
  
"Three weeks.. six days.. eight hours.. twenty-four minutes.. thirty seconds.."  
  
I quietly lowered myself next to him on the bench and looked at the digital display as it whipped through time. Unnecessary crutch. After a night like this, I could finally tell him what he needed to hear.  
  
"You're real, Miki-san."  
  
His lashes fluttered over glazed eyes before he let out a short burst of a laugh under his breath, "Of course I am." he said without really meaning it.  
  
"You're real, this is real - you were right."   
  
Now his look changed. The blue of his eyes sharpened to a calculating stare as I heard a faint *beep*. He had stopped the watch, stopped time just for a moment - just for this.  
  
"You knew all along, didn't you? We all probably suspected something was wrong with that school, with our lives. But you knew beyond a doubt."  
  
"I had doubts"  
  
"But you timed it. You timed it all. You created time in a place where time didn't exist. It never moved, it never changed, we never lived. Except in that stopwatch. Except for you."  
  
"It was so long, sempai." he whispered, clenching the small device in his talented grip, "We were there so long. For time not to exist, we took up quite a bit of it." He sighed, leaning back against the bench, letting his fist loosen, "We lived for years without really living at all... and then, it seems, all of life came crowding into one single hour."  
  
"This is not all of life." I stated simply, without hesitation. This couldn't be all there was. After five years, this was still too much like Ootori. Old issues were still here. Somehow there had to be more, there had to be something beyond. Something after.  
  
He grinned to himself several moments before bowing his head in concession, "I suppose you're right."  
  
Even in our seclusion we could hear the sudden uproar of a countdown. I thought it quite fitting as I heard the single digits being yelled into the night sky by the city of New York, but saw no movement on the watch in Miki's hand. "Looks like time goes on without you here."  
  
"I just hope life goes on, too."  
  
"Believe.." I found myself whispering, more to myself than to him. Believe... so that all your dreams come true.  
  
He looked at me as the the clocks of the east coast struck midnight. He stared as the cheers and singing lifted everyone up, raised them all with elation. And he moved in without warning. His kiss was soft and unintrusive, like a feather against the skin. I thought his lips were chapped earlier, but against mine they felt smooth and gentle. Young. Fresh. I wanted them to always stay that way.   
  
When he pulled away I realized I had not closed my eyes at all. So our eyes met immediately and he knew what I'd already known. What we both had always known. Laughing, with faintly pink cheeks, he smiled up at me - his sempai, "I know.. just not sexy."  
  
I chuckled with him, "Happy New Year, Miki-kun."  
  
----------  
  
Author's Aside : Wow.. this is a totally different style from the other chapters. But I like it a lot and had fun writing it. This chapter's taken a big turn away from the norm. But I think that's good. I mean, it has been several years since I wrote the others, my style had to change. This chapter has been festering in my head for ages so it had a lot to work out. Also, I have a big loyalty to Miki, so I wanted his arch in the story to get everything it deserved. I am /i trying to put him and Juri together, I hope that's obvious. And this is definitely not the end of the story - the rest of it is certainly more Juri/Shiori related. But we had to have this falling out, distanced period. I think the lyrics practically demand it. What else.. ah, I know I do a lot of mixing the series with movie allusions. This is because I'm kind of basing this reality on the fact that the duellists are personas that have lived through all the "revolutions". So don't get confused - just give into the insanity. :) Oh, and all the nursery rhymes? Yeah - more connected to the last verse (o/~Honey, you make about as much sense as a nursery rhyme.o/~) and I couldn't fit it in until this chapter. Also, sorry for the long A-ko and B-ko tirade, I just figured they got fit right there and I love 'em. :D And, yes, I put in the inside joke of 'Baaa...'. It was my old Anti-Shiori site, so I doubt anyone gets it anymore. But that's cool, it's my story, only I have to be amused really. ;) Woo - thanks again to everyone who reviewed, please let me know how you like things now! 


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